


Sulk

by ariel2me



Series: Winter King [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Dunk and Egg - George R.R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1995648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When the king named Lord Bloodraven his Hand, your lord father refused to be part of his council and departed King’s Landing for his own seat,” he reminded Egg. “He has been at Summerhall for a year, and half of another. What do you call that, if not sulking?” (The Sworn Sword, Dunk and Egg II)</p><p>When Stannis returned to Dragonstone after Robert named Ned Stark as his Hand, a question from Shireen and a remark from Maester Cressen brought to mind Stannis’ great-great-grandfather Maekar Targaryen, who returned to his seat at Summerhall after his brother Aerys I refused to name him Hand of the King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sulk

**Author's Note:**

> “Ser? That fat septon said my father sulks in Summerhall.”
> 
> “Words are wind.”
> 
> “My father doesn’t sulk.”
> 
> “Well,” said Dunk, “he might. You sulk.” No one ever clouted your father in the ear, though. Maybe that’s why Prince Maekar is the way he is. “When the king named Lord Bloodraven his Hand, your lord father refused to be part of his council and departed King’s Landing for his own seat,” he reminded Egg. “He has been at Summerhall for a year, and half of another. What do you call that, if not sulking?”
> 
> “I call it being wroth,” Egg declared loftily. “His Grace should have made my father Hand. He’s his brother, and the finest battle commander in the realm since Uncle Baelor died. Lord Bloodraven’s not even a real lord, that’s just some stupid courtesy. He’s a sorcerer, and baseborn besides.”
> 
> ~ (The Sworn Sword, Dunk and Egg II)
> 
> “Poor Maekar.”
> 
> “Poor?” said Dunk, startled. “The king’s son?”
> 
> “The king’s fourth son,” said Raymun. “Not quite as bold as Prince Baelor, nor as clever as Prince Aerys, nor as gentle as Prince Rhaegel. And now he must suffer seeing his own sons overshadowed by his brother’s.”
> 
> ~ (The Hedge Knight, Dunk and Egg I)
> 
> "Is he a friend of your father?" 
> 
> Egg made a face. "My father never liked him. In the Rebellion, Lord Butterwell's second son fought for the pretender and his eldest for the king. That way he was certain to be on the winning side. Lord Butterwell didn't fight for anyone." 
> 
> "Some might call that prudent." 
> 
> "My father calls it craven." 
> 
> Aye, he would. Prince Maekar was a hard man, proud and full of scorn.
> 
> ~ (The Mystery Knight, Dunk and Egg III)
> 
> "They called my father a kinslayer, though." 
> 
> He is, lad, though I do not think he meant it. Dunk had told Egg half a hundred times not to take such words to heart. You know the truth. Let that be enough. They had heard such talk before, in wine sinks and low taverns, and around campfires in the woods. The whole realm knew how Prince Maekar's mace had felled his brother Baelor Breakspear at Ashford Meadow. Talk of plots was only to be expected.
> 
> ~ (The Mystery Knight, Dunk and Egg III)
> 
> And my father ... he never thought the throne would pass to him, and yet it did. He used to say that was his punishment for the blow that slew his brother. I pray he found the peace in death that he never knew in life. 
> 
> ~ (A Feast for Crows)

The stairs leading up to the Chamber of the Painted Table were like treacherous old enemies, familiar, yet still dangerous and somewhat unpredictable. Even after more than ten years spent in Dragonstone, Cressen could not really like this castle the way he had loved Storm’s End. “They do not want us here,” Stannis had once said of the lords and knights sworn to Dragonstone, former Targaryen loyalists who might not be so former in their loyalty to the deposed dynasty after all. Cressen thought the same about the castle itself, this monstrosity of carved stones and dragon likeness - _it_ did not want them to be here either, still hankering perhaps for the return of the dragonlords, the real lords of Dragonstone.

Lord Stannis was not where Cressen expected him to be, at his usual place, seated on the one chair facing Aegon’s Painted Table. Instead, he was standing near the south window, staring out to sea. It had been three moons since the day Stannis arrived at Dragonstone from King’s Landing, tight-lipped and grim-faced. He was brooding, some said. Sulking, contended others.    

Cressen cleared his throat. “You summoned me, my lord?” The twisted, winding and numerous stairs to Lord Stannis’ favourite chamber in the castle might be harder and harder to climb as Cressen grew older and wearier, but the summon from his lord still brought a determined, if painful, smile to Cressen’s lips. _My lord has need of my counsel. Stannis still has need of me._

Instead, Stannis’ words, when they came, were tinted with an unmistakable flash of anger. “What have you been teaching my daughter, old man?”

Startled, Cressen spluttered, “My lord?”

Stannis turned to face the maester. “During dinner, Shireen was asking if I mean to stay at Dragonstone for as long as Lord Stark is Hand of the King, the way Prince Maekar returned to Summerhall to stay when Lord Bloodraven was made Hand. What have you been telling my daughter about Maekar Tagaryen, and about my return to Dragonstone?”

“Nothing about the latter, my lord,” Cressen was quick to reassure his lord. “But I have been teaching Lady Shireen about King Daeron the Second, and his four sons, including Prince Maekar. She is fascinated by the fact that you and the prince are related by blood.”

“I wish you would not go about emphasizing that Baratheon-Targaryen blood kinship in my daughter’s lessons,” Stannis said, sounding cross. Perhaps it _was_ unwise to highlight the fact that Robert Baratheon had fought and won the throne from his own kith and kin. Then again, it was precisely that Targaryen blood flowing in him, courtesy of his lady grandmother, which made the other lords raised their banners in Robert Baratheon’s name, and not in the name of Ned Stark, Jon Arryn or any other lords rebelling against the Mad King.   

“The kinship came from a great-grandmother Shireen never knew, a grandmother I never met myself,” Stannis continued. Princess Rhaelle Targaryen, granddaughter of Maekar Targaryen, daughter of Aegon V Targaryen, had died long before Steffon Baratheon’s three sons were born. “And he was a king,” Stannis continued. “King Maekar Targaryen, First of His Name. He ascended to the throne after his brother King Aerys the First died childless. It is erroneous to keep referring to him as Prince Maekar or _the prince_ ,” Stannis grumbled, always a stickler for the correctness of things.

“But he _was_ a prince at the time of King Daeron’s reign, and that is the period of history Lady Shireen is learning about in her lessons at the moment,” Cressen pointed out.

“If that is so, how is it that Shireen was speaking of King Aerys’ reign, about who was made Hand and who was spurned despite being the most qualified?”

Were they still truly talking about King Aerys and his brother Maekar, Cressen wondered? He knew better than to voice this question out loud, however.

“Lady Shireen must have been reading ahead, beyond what I have taught her in her lessons,” Cressen said, in reply to Stannis’ question. “She does that at times, impatient perhaps to know more. It reminds me of another child under my tutelage, long ago,” Cressen said, smiling at the recollection.

Stannis sniffed. “I only did that when I was taking my lessons alongside Robert, as you well know, Maester. You went very, very slowly with your lesson when Robert was around so that he could keep up. Not that Robert cared a whit. He would much rather be outdoors practicing his arms with Ser Gawen or going hunting with Great-Uncle Harbert.”           

There were plenty of other times when Stannis had been reading ahead beyond his lessons. Cressen remembered them all, especially the time Stannis finished reading Conquest of Dorne only a few days after Cressen had begun to use the book in his lessons. The book was a great disappointment as a work of history, declared young Stannis. The Young Dragon was not interested in recounting precise and accurate facts about what really happened; rather, he was more interested in extolling his own virtues, his courage, his gallantry. “A vainglorious account written by an even more vainglorious author,” Stannis had concluded at the time, and nothing suggested that he had changed his mind about the Young Dragon and his book since then.

An impatient cough from Stannis broke Cressen’s reverie, returning him to the issue at hand. “My lord, I certainly did not tell Lady Shireen that her father’s return to Dragonstone is in any way similar or comparable to Prince Maekar returning to Summerhall to sulk after he was not made Hand of the King by his brother.”

Stannis frowned. “Who said anything about sulking? Shireen never mentioned anything about anyone sulking. The child only said that she is happy I will be spending more time here, with her and her mother.” He grimaced. “Not that I could understand why Shireen, or Selyse for that matter, would be so pleased. My presence would hardly matter to the both of them, having been so used to my absence these many years.” He paused, perhaps considering the truth, or untruth, of his own assertion. When he spoke again, he sounded like a man determined to convince _himself_ , most of all. “In any case, it is certainly _not true_ that Maekar Targaryen had been sulking at Summerhall.”

“But that did seem to be the consensus reached by most of the credible accounts of the period, my lord.”

Stannis scoffed. “Accounts written by lofty archmaesters holed up in Oldtown among dusty scrolls and thick books, being nowhere near where the events were actually happening. And I suppose they blamed Maekar too for all the troubles that took place during his brother’s reign?”

Cressen hesitated. “There _were_ some accounts speculating that if Prince Maekar had stayed in King’s Landing as a member of King Aerys’ Small Council, then perhaps –“

“Why should he stay, when it was obvious that he was not needed? If his brother had had need of him, he should have ordered Maekar to return to King’s Landing. I’m certain Maekar would have obeyed the command. He would do his duty and return to King’s Landing to serve his brother, despite his displeasure at being passed over for the position he was well-qualified for. But Aerys never called for Maekar to return.”

“We don’t know that he didn’t,” Cressen pointed out. “Even lofty archmaesters might not have all the relevant facts.”

“I’m sure he never did,” Stannis insisted, adamantly. “Or else Maekar would have done his duty and return to King’s Landing. But why should he go where he obviously was not needed, or even wanted? Where his counsel falls on deaf ears, where he is considered a mere nuisance, an irritation?”

The change in tense from past to present did not escape Cressen’s notice. Robert had not sent any raven to Dragonstone, either to ask about Stannis’ plan to return to King’s Landing, or to command Stannis to return. Cressen braved the question. “Would you return to King’s Landing and to the king’s council, if your brother asked you to do so?”

The look Stannis gave Cressen was full of withering scorn. “Do you really have to ask? When have I ever defied Robert? When have I ever shirked my duty to my older brother? I chose _him_ over my king, my liege lord. I stayed behind to defend Storm’s End when he marched to war, because that’s what he commanded me to do. He didn’t thank me for holding Storm’s End against the enemy, watching countless men, women and children starve to death; he thanked Ned Stark for lifting the siege. And still, when he told me to raise a fleet and sail to Dragonstone to subdue the remaining Targaryen loyalists, I did what he asked of me. What were his thanks then? He blamed me for the Targaryen babes escaping, when in truth they had been gone even before our fleet departed Storm’s End for Dragonstone. He punished me by denying me Storm’s End. He gave that to Renly instead, my younger brother, the youngest son, a mere boy of eight at the time.”

“I remember a question you once asked about Summerhall when you were learning about King Daeron’s reign,” Cressen said softly. “I didn’t have a good answer for you then, my lord.”

Stannis nodded, remembering. “I asked you why Prince Maekar was the one given the Targaryen seat at Summerhall, when he was the youngest son. Why wasn’t Summerhall given to Prince Aerys, as the second son, the way Prince Baelor as the eldest son was made heir and Prince of Dragonstone. You told me that Prince Rhaegel was either feeble-witted or stark raving mad, and Prince Aerys was bookish and not a warrior. It was not a convincing answer, Maester.”

“I know,” Cressen said, smiling. “You made your feelings _very_ clear at the time.” Stannis had also made his feelings very clear when Cressen tried to convince him that Robert giving him Dragonstone and denying him Storm’s End was never meant as a slight or a punishment; that Robert needed a strong lord to rule over Dragonstone and subdue any remaining Targaryen loyalists, and that it was an honor, in fact, Dragonstone being the traditional seat of the Targaryen heir to the throne. “But we are Baratheons, not Targaryen. And I am not his heir, not really, nor do I want to be. Robert will have trueborn sons for that,” Stannis had countered at the time. He wanted what was his, by right and by law. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Rhaegel was the third son, so he was never in the picture,” Stannis said now. “Aerys was the second son, the one who should have been made Prince of Summerhall. Being bookish and not warrior-like is not a good enough reason to deny him his rights.”  

“Perhaps King Daeron wanted to reward Prince Maekar, who along with Prince Baelor Breakspear were the two sons who fought and won the first Blackfyre rebellion for him. And maybe that was the reason King Aerys the First did not make Prince Maekar his Hand when he finally became king, because he still held a grudge about being passed over for being Prince of Summerhall, in favor of his youngest brother.”

In truth, Cressen did not put much stock on that speculation. (It was more likely, Cressen suspected, that King Daeron, who once said that too many dragons were just as dangerous as too few, wanted to put a safe distance between Prince Maekar’s big brood of children with the rest of the royal family; especially Maekar’s two infamous older sons, Daeron the Drunkard and Aerion the Monstrous. Summerhall being located in the Dornish Marches, some distance away from King’s Landing, would be very convenient for that purpose.) But Cressen had a particular reason right now for mentioning grudges and slights.

Stannis was no fool; he caught on to Cressen’s intention almost immediately. He gave Cressen a knowing look as if to say, _I know you and your tricks, old man_. “I may hold a grudge for a long time,” Stannis admitted, “but I have never allowed it to determine my actions. I was angry when Robert gave Storm’s End to Renly, but I did my duty as Lord of Dragonstone all the same, just as I did my duty in Robert’s Small Council all the same. And I have never done anything to undermine Renly’s position as Lord of Storm’s End, even though we both know it should never have been given to him in the first place.”

After a long pause, Stannis continued, “I remember something else you said about Maekar Targaryen, Maester. The day we heard the rumor that Robert was injured at the Trident, and there was some uncertainty about his fate, about whether he would survive.”

Cressen nodded, wincing. The memory pained him still. “You said that you would have done a lot more good fighting the war alongside Robert, rather than holed up in Storm’s End, resisting, waiting, watching your people starve and die. Do you remember what I told you?”

“You told me to remember the lessons of Baelor and Maekar at Redgrass Field during the first Blackfyre Rebellion. The hammer and the anvil. Maekar was the anvil, the shield wall resisting the desperate attack of their bastard uncle Bittersteel. Baelor was the hammer, attacking the rebel forces from behind as they were distracted trying to break through Maekar’s tight defense. That was how the battle was won, you said. I told you that Robert was not coming to attack the Tyrell and Redwyne forces from behind; he was too busy fighting the Targaryen’s men. And you said that is not the point. The point is, keeping the Tyrell and Redwyne forces busy besieging Storm’s End for more than a year reduced the number of men and resources the Mad King had for fighting Robert’s men elsewhere. If Storm’s End had fallen and been captured, those men would have joined the rest of the Targaryen forces, making it harder for Robert to win the war. It was a good lesson in battle tactic, Maester,” Stannis started, “for someone who have never wielded a sword in his life,” he ended, dryly.

Cressen smiled. “Dusty scrolls and thick books have its uses too, sometimes. As it was, you held Storm’s End till the end of the war.”

“They didn’t give Maekar much credit for that victory at Redgrass Field, though. He was less bold than his brother Baelor, people claimed. There is no _romance_ in defending and resisting, unlike attacking and being on the offensive. There is no _glory_ in it,” Stannis said, his voice disdainful and contemptuous at the mention of romance and glory.

It was not dissimilar to the way people talked about Robert’s Rebellion. The songs and stories being bandied about were of Robert’s cunning and courage in battle, not about his brother’s defiant stand at Storm’s End. But that was the way of the world, from time immemorial.

 _I love you_ , Cressen thought _. I have loved you from the first time I held you in my arms, this tiny, squalling infant; this boy who needed me most, always, always, living in your brother’s shadow. But even I cannot change the world for you, Stannis._

“You were not all bad as a teacher,” Stannis said suddenly.

“Was I a good one, my lord?”

“How should I know? I never had another to compare. My father did, though, before you came to Storm’s End. A spectacularly poor teacher and counsellor, that maester was, by all accounts. You saved him from a lifetime of ignorance, Father said.”  

“Did he? I never knew that. Lord Steffon never told me.”

“Well, I’m telling you now.”

“I never had all the answers,” Cressen said sadly, regretfully. “A maester should know more.” A maester should be able to do more, to ease the pain and the burden of the people he served, Cressen thought.

“Just as well,” Stannis replied. “I’d be suspicious of anyone who claims he has all the answers, maester or no maester.”

Cressen held on to that notion, tightly, when Shireen started her next lesson by asking, “Was Prince Maekar still a kinslayer, if he didn’t mean to kill his brother with that blow? Was he really cursed by gods and men to the end of his days, and even beyond that?”


End file.
